Keeper's cottage...

Just south of Dash Point is another point of land that juts into Puget Sound. This one is in Pierce County, called Brown's Point. There's been a lighthouse there since 1887, reduced now to a caged light on a concrete platform. I wish there was a beautiful lighthouse structure there, but there never has been, so I don't pine.


But even though there is no beautiful lighthouse here, there are other beautiful buildings in this small park. There's a cottage for the lighthouse keeper, and a gable building where the water supply was housed. There's also a building that used to store oil for the light, and a boathouse for a rescue lifeboat.


The Points Historical Society rents out the Keeper's Cottage, and operates two museums near the lighthouse: the History Center has changing exhibits about the history of the area, and the Boat House Museum has a replica surf boat and maritime artifacts on display.


The grounds have beautiful gardens, taken care of by volunteers of the historical society. Mid-summer is the perfect time to come for a visit, as the gardens are at the peak of their glory.

There are a lot of hearts in this picture

The park has broad green lawns spreading down to the shore, and there's a beach for surf fishing or kite flying or spreading out a blanket and having a picnic Today there were a dozen people standing in the surf, fishing. And there was a young family laughing and playing on the beach. I could have stayed here for hours. Next time I'll come near the end of the day, and stay to watch the light change, watch the day darken to dusk, and the sky turn color with the setting sun.



There are also beautiful views of  Puget Sound and Tacoma from this park, too. But today, the flowers grabbed all my attention.

Places with history...

We went back to the lighthouse point for a second try at a cache hidden deep in the ivy, and today we found it. And I stuck my hand into a nasty pile of blackberry thorns. Ouch. DW headed straight back to the Pilot, but I lingered to take some photos of the keeper's cottage, painted bright white with dark green trim, and checked out the huge bronze bell that's in the little house that was built just for it, back when the lighthouse was first built.

On December 12, 1887, two years before Washington became a state, a fixed white light lantern was placed on a post on Point Brown.

The first lighthouse was built in 1901, along with a keeper's cottage. The lighthouse stood on wood pilings off shore; at low tide you could walk to the lighthouse. At high tide, the light had to be accessed by row boat.

For thirty years, Oscar Brown (and his wife, Annie) lived at the Point and took care of the light. Every evening at sundown, Brown lit the lamp in the attic, and at sunrise he put it out.

When the bell rang all night long due to fog, he had to rewind the mechanism every 45 minutes. And if the bell wasn't working, he and Annie rang the bell the hard way: she timed the interval, and he struck the bell with a sledgehammer. 

When the station closed in 1964, the area became a public park. Lighthouse Park provides waterfront access to the public, for beachcombing and surf fishing, and the green space and gardens make this a nice place to hang out and have a picnic, and watch ships come in and out of the Port of Tacoma.

The lighthouse buildings and cottage are open to the public May-October on Saturdays, 1-4 pm. And if you're so inclined, you can rent the cottage for a week, and become an honorary lighthouse keeper.

Autumn at 2800 feet...

The last time we came to Monte Cristo, you could drive right to the townsite. But six years later, a series of winter storms and high water took out the main road bridge over the Stilliguamish River, and the forest service decided not to rebuild the road.

Today it's a four mile hike to get to the townsite, through towering trees on a mostly flat trail that ambles along the river. And that river crossing is now a scary tightrope walk across a massive log. The butt end of the log was easily 5 feet in diameter, and an easy walk. But then it got narrow, and when it fell it broke into a few sections, and I really didn't think I'd make it across the broken parts. But I did, thankfully.

All day we walked and explored along the river, surrounded by brilliant color, and with the snowline just a few hundred feet above us. It was a constant reminder that we're on the brink of tumbling into winter.

We stopped frequently on the hike to the old mining town, as there are many geocaches along this trail. But finally we reached the old logging road and climbed up the last mile to the townsite, and crossed the bridge over the river.

A couple of the old town signs have survived.

The first sign that you've reached the ghost town is this small red frame building, which once housed the electrical equipment that powered the town. It's been restored by a team of volunteers, and now sits on a new foundation. Can you see the curved path at the bottom of the photograph? This is the pathway carved by the original turntable for the railroad. The turntable still exists, and is so well balanced you can move it by hand.

Many buildings still exist, mostly cabins and bungalows used by miners during the town's boom period in the late 1890s. The first wide valley holds several intact structures, but most of the residents lived up a narrow trail to another plateau, where the streets are still visible.



Up the river are the remains of the ore concentrator, once a five-story structure, now a towering pile of huge timbers.

We took time for a late lunch and a last look around, then started the hike back to the trailhead. The clouds were clearing, and the snow was disappearing from the high ridges.

As we walked, several groups of hikers passed us, on the way up to the ghost town. With sunset just a couple of hours away, I hope they know what they're doing.

When we got back to the river, I was dreading that scary walk across the fallen log. So I looked for an alternate, and spotted a man-made "path" of rocks across one of the braided channels of the river. That looked much better to me. The water was low, the rocks were dry, and I got plenty of balance help from my trekking poles. From the island in the middle of the river, it was easy to climb up onto the widest part of the log, and make the rest of the crossing.

We got back to the Pilot just as the light was fading. Perfect timing, and a very good day.

Hidden...

It was back in 2002 when I first explored this old cemetery, once part of the coal mining town of Franklin. My work schedule gave me every Friday off, and when the weather was good, I'd be off in my Explorer, driving the backroads and looking for photographs to take.

That long ago December morning I set out toward Mount Rainier, armed with my Pentax SLR and a stack of CDs I'd picked up from the library the day before. I popped in a new one from Brooks & Dunn, and on the first track I was hooked. Singing along with "Only in America," I turned off the highway toward the old Green River Gorge bridge.

Looking idly out the side window, I slammed on the brakes. There, just beyond a small clearing, I could see the top of a pointed headstone. I found a wide spot to park in, and hopped out with my camera. As I walked toward the headstone, the details of this wooded place started to show themselves, among the tangle of blackberry vines. Tall concrete pillars on either side of an old gate, and a sagging chain link fence. Headstones that peeked out from underneath a tangle of brambles and brush.

I pushed my way through the overgrown grass and brambles, looking at the inscriptions and thinking about how these people must have lived (and died) on this remote slope of a mountain. Many died young, and were most likely employed in the nearby mines.

On that cold winter day, I snapped a few photographs then left as quietly as I came. This is a peaceful place, not at all haunted.

I never stopped to see the cemetery again until a few days ago. I came down the winding road, and noticed that the parking area had been cleared out, so I pulled in to have a look. The cemetery was a beautiful oasis of green grass behind the saggy chain link fence.



The blackberry tangle was gone, and the headstones were standing proud. And those beautiful concrete pillars were still there, still covered in moss.

Whenever we take a road trip, we always try and stop at the old cemeteries in the small towns along the way. I love the windswept hillsides, the towering trees, the history of a community. It makes me think about my own passing, and whether my own history will include the name my parents chose for me, chiseled on granite.

To those who walk the cemeteries and record the history found there, for the knowledge of the rest of us... you have my heartfelt thanks.

Shared today on Scene & Story.

Franklin ghosts...

Twice a year the local historical society does a guided tour of one of the many coal mining townsites in this part of the county. Franklin was a busy place in its heydey, with a thousand residents who lived and worked and played together on the steep hillside that hid some of the best coal deposits in the state.

There are a few structures remaining from the many mines that stretched across this hillside, 400 feet above the Green River Gorge. And nothing remains from the hotel, school, saloons, various halls, and houses except a few concrete foundations.

Two cemeteries, one at each end, are tended: one is still in use, and stands alongside the county road. The other is wild and old, with slick paths that go from one headstone to the next.

It wasn't the best weather for a steep hike up the hillsides to the remaining structures, but we learned a lot about the history of Franklin, and even snagged a geocache along the way.

We saw no ghosts today... maybe the cold rain kept them away.